Thank you, Samantha

My grandma, Mary Rose, passed away last Sunday afternoon in a nursing home, and was laid to rest on the following Tuesday morning.  It was a bittersweet thing to say goodbye to her.  Her health had declined rapidly over the last few months of her life, and she suffered greatly toward the end.  When the call came from my brother that she had finally passed, it was both a relief to know that she was finally at peace, and at the same time, a loss that left a hole in my heart. 

Everyone grieves in their own way, and I did what I do best – I wrote.  I wanted to honor her by recording and sharing the story of her life, so that’s just what I did.  I listened as my father, aunt, and uncle shared stories and memories of their mother, our Memaw –some touching and warm, while others were just plain funny.  I pieced all of those defining moments together into the eulogy for the funeral service.

It was pleasant writing up until the end.  Memories from those last few years, in which my grandmother became a widow and quickly began to lose her good health, were hard to put on paper.  Whenever I heard about her last year spent in a nursing home, the tears started to fall, and I felt guilty.  I began to make the mental list in my head of all the things that I should have done.

I should have gone to visit her more often.  I should have spent more time with her when I did visit.  I should have talked to the staff more; I should have asked more questions about the care that she was receiving.  I should have been more of an advocate for her.  I should have brought her flowers to brighten up the room more often.   And the list went on and on.  I think that everyone who has ever had a loved one in a nursing home has probably had the same conversation with themselves.  I was struck with this vision of my grandmother, sad, sick and alone, withering away in a nursing home bed, and it cut through my heart like a knife.

But then my aunt, who stayed with my grandmother during the last few days of her life, mentioned a name that I hadn’t heard before.  “Samantha,” she said.  “She was a special friend of Memaw’s during the last few months of her life.  I want you to mention Samantha in the eulogy.”

She went on to tell me all about Samantha.  She was a C.N.A. in her early twenties, and spent a good deal of time with my grandmother.  Samantha would often paint Memaw’s fingernails and style her hair.  Somedays, she brought flowers into her room and would sit at her bedside to share jokes and stories.  And when Memaw ran out of chocolate pudding – her favorite item on the daily dinner tray – Samantha always made sure that she had an extra one in her pocket for her favorite patient. Samantha would always give her a hug on the way out the door at the end of her shift, and my grandma would often tell her that she loved her. 

Even after Samantha left her job at the nursing home while my grandmother was still a patient there, she continued to come as a visitor to spend time with her beloved “Miss Mary.” 

At the funeral, I saw a young lady that I didn’t recognize.  In blue jeans and a polo shirt, the young, pretty girl with tattooed arms and sunglasses over her eyes stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of mostly middle-aged and elderly friends and family in dark dresses and Sunday suits.  The bouquet of colorful flowers in the girl’s arms told me that she was the precious Samantha that I had heard so much about.  She had come to tell my grandmother goodbye, and to bring her flowers one last time.

I went to Samantha and introduced myself.  I thanked her for all that she did for my grandmother.   I knew that because of her, there had been no shortage of love in the last part of my grandmother’s life.  Her presence at the funeral showed us all how much she loved our Memaw still. 

I hear chatter among nurses all the time about the new generation of nurses and nursing assistants entering the workforce.  They say that young people just don’t bring the same compassion and work ethic to their nursing careers that previous generations did.  The next time I hear those words spoken, I will tell them about Samantha.

I will tell them how lovingly and attentively she cared for my grandma.  I’ll tell them how she invested her time and energy and emotions into not just a patient, but a friendship.  And I’ll tell them how Samantha brought great peace and comfort – to my grandmother, and to me as well. 

Thank you, Samantha.